His Own Echoes
by gaymariarobotnik
Summary: This was a quicker, shorter one but have some angst? We love rewriting a scene to be sadder and gayer


As the final beast was felled and the Scions stood triumphant against an apocalyptic Amaurot, the Warrior of Darkness couldn't help but sense something off. Everything surrounding them was merely a conjured illusion, sure, but something more pricked at the back of his neck like the smallest of bites from a spider.

The Scions took to exploring the ruins carefully, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't help but find himself being pulled, ushered in a certain direction, as if he'd walked this road before, seen the horrors in front of him. _It was familiar, wasn't it? Don't deny it. He wouldn't want you to._

A small, side path took him away from his team, and he turned to look over the burning world orbiting below him. He wondered then, how many times the Source had suffered the same damage. He'd been barely present for one calamity, he dared not think of another, greater one. It wasn't as if he didn't consider the plight Amaurot had gone through, he felt every world was worth saving, but what was gone was gone. He couldn't sympathize with Emet-Selch in the way that he wanted nothing more than to destroy this shard, as well as every other to renew what was lost. If some part of the warrior had been present during all of this, he certainly would hope he'd have looked past their dying world for the better.

"_You seem troubled, my friend. Are we not putting an end to this, as we promised?"_

There was no one around for those words to be spoken.

The Warrior's ear flickered, stopping his trek down the path to look around for any straggling illusions, but nothing came up. Was this another trick of the Ascian? Or was it another sign that he was losing himself to the light? Either way, he had to ignore it.

"_Oh, do not worry about me. My eyes feign melancholy, but I could not be more relieved that we should be bringing such hurt to an end. I only regret it had to come to this."_

Another voice, an almost familiar one rang to his ears- _no- echoed_ around him as if the two speaking were simply out of reach.

_This had to be an illusion._

He was growing too far from the Scions, too far into the destruction that was Amaurot. He would deny the fear building in his chest, only because it was overridden with curiosity. This was the ascian's doing, it had to be.

His eyes returned to the path in front of him, observing the cobblestone turning crystalline, it's deep shade of violet glowing almost serene and natural beneath his feet. Somehow, he felt away from his worries, as if he wasn't himself in that moment. The burning heat of light in his chest felt numbed and somehow the world around him seemed..._natural. Familiar._

_And then he stopped in his tracks._

_His chest hitched with a sharp inhale, but the sight of the body just yalms away from him stole his breath just as quickly._

_He hardly had time to register it's lack of movement. And his voice rose out of him in a terrified scream._

"_Hythlodaeus!"_

It was, and wasn't his voice, and it confused him ever more. He had meant to speak another name, but he hadn't even noticed the misspoken words, nor did he care. He rushed to the body's side, his hand shoving itself under his robes and carefully moving him into his arms.

The Exarch was stiff, cold, motionless- practically a dolly in his arms. His head fell limp against his chest as he pulled him in, and he looked as if he were simply sleeping.

"...Raha…?"

The warrior's voice cracked under his held back cries, searching his face for any sign of a response, any hope that Emet-Selch hadn't taken what was left of him. _Please gods let it not come to this._ He was so bloodied and bruised, a gash on his head and at the corner of his lip, and who knew where else...beaten within an inch of his life, mayhap all of it.

His hand came to cup his cheek, thumb gently brushing the crystal coating his jawline and spiking under his eye. _This had to be a trick. This couldn't be real, not after everything they'd suffered._

"Raha...please..._please _wake up...I can't lose you now…"

_A shaky hand ran itself through faded pink hair, brushing the stray strands from his face, now growing cold with the call of passing. His lover cradled him on the brink of their ruined world. Fires burned and buildings were torn asunder around them, but all that was heard were the gentle sobs of the bringer of light as they held their dear friend in hopes that they would awake once more. _

_There was little hope in it. He had given himself to save their world. To save those they had lost, that they had loved. Why then, did they still exist in this destruction? Did the light not deem him worthy?! He was worth more than anyone had told him. Why was he denied this now?_

"_Hythlodaeus...my love, you shall not be forgotten...your actions shall forever scar my heart and I will wear it proudly, I swear!" The light bringer, no longer the 14th, could barely croak their promise through the tears, but he would have him hear his promises. His story would not go untold._

"_I promise you, you shall be remembered…that I would never be without you."_

The warriors eyes fluttered open, and is if it were a calling, the hand pressed against the Exarch's back felt the smallest of inhales. It was weak, but _thank the gods_ he was still breathing. He hadn't noticed the tears of relief flowing freely from his eyes until he watched them drip onto the injured miqo'te's face. _Emet-Selch did this to him, but he would not suffer another ill-willed finger on him. As long as the ascian remained and the light inside of him burned, not another soul would come near the Exarch._ _He would not lose him again._

He stood then, with him in his arms, and dutifully returned to the Scions.

_That he wouldn't never be without him._


End file.
